


‘Cause We Understood

by Meduseld



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Ben is full of rage and grief, Bradford's a dick, Gentle Sex, Loving Sex, M/M, Makeup Sex, Porn, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 03:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11245224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meduseld/pseuds/Meduseld
Summary: Post bonfire fight in 2x01, Ben and Caleb finish making up.





	‘Cause We Understood

**Author's Note:**

> [For this prompt.](http://turn-kink.livejournal.com/799.html?thread=95263#t95263)

Afterward, when Bradford’s been dragged to the physician by his cronies and the gossips have dispersed, Ben finds himself in his tent with Caleb shadowed in the entry way.

The easy camaraderie of the fight has evaporated.

He hasn’t felt awkward around Caleb since childhood, in those strange times when his body was growing in ways he didn’t understand and reacting in alarming ways to his oldest friend. And now there is a new gulf between them, and Ben knows it is largely of his own making.

He’d give anything to be back in that brief moment, back to back and _together_. He’s not sure where it’s gone.  

“You alright there, Tallboy?” Caleb asks, like he’s already halfway outside, and he can’t help the noise that bubbles from his chest. He can’t look at Caleb, he can’t see the distant pity, or all the ways they could lose each other beyond enemy bayonets. He drops his face into his hands instead.

Tonight was the first time someone’s touched him in months. Caleb still hasn’t touched him at all.

“Ben?”

He shakes his head, pressing his eyes onto his palms. Caleb sounds so kind. So warm. Loving.

“Have you got pain? I could get you something” Caleb’s hand is on his shoulder, and he can’t do it anymore.

He reaches for him, kissing him deeply, pouring in the love, the _longing_. He pulls back when he realizes that Caleb’s mouth has stayed slack in surprise. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I’ve missed you so _much_ , I-”

“Shh, shh. S'alright”.  He shakes his head, because everything’s gone wrong and he doesn’t know how to fix it.  

He tries to pull away, but this time Caleb’s big hands cradle his head and he gets kissed, slowly and tenderly. One hand moves down to his collar, then to fiddle with his buttons and he pulls away.

“You don’t. You don’t have to, I know I-” Caleb cuts him off again, his lips firmer.

“I want to. Really, really do. I just thought y’ wouldn’t welcome it, things being what they’ve been”. Ben stares, disbelieving. There’s no world where he wouldn’t welcome Caleb. Flaming tomahawks and all.

A small smile plays on Caleb’s lips, like the words are written on Ben’s forehead. “Then let me show you that I missed you, too” he whispers, and Ben lets himself be pushed back onto his narrow cot.

Big hands undo his waistcoat, then push his shirt up and glide over his skin. He touches Ben like he’s precious delicate, and well loved, rough calluses moving weightlessly, making him arch to chase their touch. It’s been long enough that he’s already flushed and panting, keening a little when Caleb presses open mouthed kisses against the rounded edges of his shoulders as he pulls his shirt off.

He presses up, bare skin dragging against Caleb’s clothes. If he’d been with anyone else, he might have been embarrassed at the sound he makes at the sensation. Instead he reaches for the buttons and his wrists get pinned over his head.

“No, love. This is for you, alright?” His answer is to slip his tongue into Caleb’s mouth, moaning when he slips away to kiss down his chest, his thick beard leaving red marks in its wake.

It’s a struggle to keep from making more noise, biting his tongue as Caleb takes his time making him flush and arch with his lips and teeth and tongue. He feels like he’s being remade with each touch, newer and better.

Since the war has started there’s been no real time to take for themselves, just rushed moments in cramped conditions with as many clothes on as they can manage. This feels more like the lazy afternoon they spent in a real bed in New Haven, a lifetime ago, in the fall when classes hadn’t yet begun. Ben feels like that boy again, full of hope and possibility, without friends in the ground or blood on his hands.

Caleb slides Ben’s breeches down to mid-thigh, a stark reminder that there is still much they cannot afford, in the here and now. He presses love and apology into Ben’s skin, tracing slow circles with his thumbs along Ben’s knees, teasing as he draws closer to the throbbing ache between his legs.

Ben actually has to bite his wrist to keep from screaming when Caleb finally puts his mouth there. He can’t put a name to the sensation, the ecstasy of the hot wet prickly _slide_ , counterpointed by the heavy pressure of big callused hands holding down his hips.

He’s not going to last, but that’s not the point. One of his hands slides down to fist in Caleb’s hair, the other up to tangle in his own. He peaks with a sharp tug and a drawn out groan.

Caleb’s head drops heavy onto his thigh, breathing wet and open mouthed onto his skin, shaking slightly, as if he’d been in Ben’s place. He shivers, then unclenches his fingers and reaches for Caleb’s collar.

He’s not easy to haul up, clumsily trying to keep his weight from overbalancing or crushing the man beneath him, but Ben _needs_ to kiss him, to breathe same air.

“Shouldn’t have stayed away” he mumbles when they finally kiss, and Ben tries to say _it’s alright, you’re here now, I’m sorry too_ with every sweep of his tongue. He tries to push Caleb onto the cot, but Caleb won’t let him, one arm wrapped firmly around his waist, the other stroking his back.

Instead, they manage to squeeze side by side, and Ben’s hand fumbles at the rough fabric of Caleb’s breeches, reaching in to pull him out, hot and hard and red and leaking. He’s the best thing Ben’s ever felt.

He wraps his hand around him firmly, the way he’s learned he likes it. It only takes a few strong strokes of his hand until Caleb is spilling, searing heat along Ben’s wrist.

It feels like a benediction.

The cot is narrow and uncomfortable, blanket scratchy and twisted, but they curl together as close as they can, foreheads pressed together. They haven’t made a move to right themselves or pull away.

Caleb’s eyes are still closed when Ben whispers “I love you" and kisses the furrow between his brow.

He breathes, then ducks his head to kiss the skin above Ben’s heart.


End file.
